


Sorry, Who?

by noussommeslessquelettes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Alternate Universe - Sports, Bilingual Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Flirting, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), How is that not a tag, I somehow managed to write absolutely zero angst, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Keith and Shiro are Franco-Canadian, Keith is a Habs fan, Lance is a Leafs fan, Leafs-Habs rivalry, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Shiro is Keith's coach because when is he not in my sports AUs???, Snowboarding, Sports, Winter Olympics, everyone is canadian, figure skating, literally just fluff, unless ur a leafs fan like me rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noussommeslessquelettes/pseuds/noussommeslessquelettes
Summary: A post-gold medal interview faux pas leads Keith to meet fellow Team Canada Olympian and figure skating phenom Lance McClain.





	Sorry, Who?

**Author's Note:**

> Listen: I, on principle, loathe the notion of underselling the works you posted, but I’m making an exception for this one. I wrote this to cope with a fuckton of mounting stress, combined with trying to edit a 50k hurt/comfort angst w/ a happy ending true crime klance AU.
> 
> This is barely edited and very VERY self-indulgent. Also contains absolutely zero angst because my writing for the past few months has been basically nothing BUT angst and it’s takin its toll lads.
> 
> So welcome to this AU, Keith and Shiro are Franco-Ontarian adopted siblings, Keith’s a snowboarder, the Garrison Trio are all figure skaters, Pidge and Keith are childhood friends because FIGHT ME, they’re all from Toronto, Keith’s a fan of the Montreal Canadiens, Lance is a fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs (because historical rivalry??? Red and blue colour schemes??? You can’t take this headcanon away from me,) and this is just super silly so don’t take it seriously at all. Everyone’s a lil ooc just lemme have this.
> 
> Writing it made me happy so it did it’s job, my only hope is that at least one of y’all will enjoy my self-indulgence and forgive me for having to take longer than I wanted to to get my next actually plot-driven fic out. Anyway enough of me, leggo.
> 
> (EDIT: Thanks Pechat for catching my grammatical error with "cellulaire," it's now been fixed!)

Despite the fact that Keith’s feet were out of his snowboard and very firmly on the ground, he’d never quite felt so high. He hadn’t even had the chance to leave the slope—much less attend his medal ceremony—but the fact of the matter had already been settled: he had the goddamn Olympic gold medal.

The grin on his face that had popped up when he’d landed his last jump had lost very little staying power even now, almost half an hour removed and conducting slopeside interviews—arguably, his least favourite aspect of being an Olympian. He grinned through question after question, barely processing what he’d heard before churning out a reflexive response (crediting his coaches, his family, or his sponsors wherever appropriate, chalking it up to hard work and dedication, et cetera et cetera,) until his brain hit an impasse.

“Uhh sorry, who?”

The reporter’s eyebrows threatened to bow in confusion before she caught herself, releasing a chuckle before rephrasing her question. “Lance McClain, the Team Canada figure skater?” Keith’s expression obviously didn’t inspire much confidence in his competence, so she elaborated. “He came out publicly just before the start of The Games, and I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the significance of both your performances for the LGBTQ community.”

Keith was praying it wasn’t showing on his face that he was racking his brain for any mentions of the name, inevitably coming up short. He breathed out a quick laugh, buying himself another moment to come up with something to say.

“Hah, well… I guess prepping for The Games didn’t give me a lot of time to do my research, but… I think…” Well that was the problem, he couldn’t fucking think! “I-it’s really important for kids like us to have those role models, and it’s great that we can have the opportunity to be out and still rise to the top of our sports, and… uh… I wish him the best of luck with his performances.”

He smiled meekly, hoping to god he hadn’t just embarrassed himself _again_ on live television—Shiro still wouldn’t let him live down the time he said ‘fuck’ on the X-Games broadcast last year.

The reporter offered him a sympathetic smile, nodding. “Thanks for your time, Keith. Congrats on the gold.”

He muttered a quick ‘thanks’ before stepping back from the corral, feeling his phone buzz in his jacket’s pocket as he turned away. Cursing, he pulled off a mitten with his teeth, fumbling with the zipper before liberating the phone, reading the new notification.

 **[New Text:** Katie **]**

 **[Katie:** Omg dude **]**

 **[Katie:** Ur so dead **]**

He shook his head, pocketing the phone once more as he went in search of Shiro, dragging his board along—

_Buzz buzz!_

_Ugh!_ He pulled his phone out again.

 **[Katie:** I SAW YOU READ IT ASSHOLE UR STILL ON TV **]**

 **[Keith:** Shiro hates phones on the course **]**

 **[Katie:** And yet you looked anyway **]**

Keith sighed, muttering ‘fair enough.’

 **[Katie:** Lance is livid that you don’t know who he is **]**

 **[Keith:** ? You know him? **]**

 **[Katie:** ???? Hey uhh Keith wanna remind me what my sport is again? **]**

He rolled his eyes.

 **[Keith:** Doesn’t mean you know EVERY figure skater **]**

 **[Katie:** Yeah but unlike other ppl I actually talk to my teammates **]**

 **[Katie:** ANYWAYS **]**

 **[Katie:** The team was all watching your comp together **]**

“ _Aucuns cellulaires sur la course_!” A gloved hand materialised out of nowhere and snatched his cellphone from his grasp.

Keith lifted his head, pouting at Shiro. “ _C’est Pidge_.”

Shiro wagged a finger. “Pidge can wait. Rules are rules, and I don’t want you to be late for podium pictures again.”

Keith rolled his eyes, reaching out for the phone. “I just won, you can’t bend the rules for me just this once?”

Shiro held it close to his chest, shaking his head despite his growing smile. “You can get it back later.”

He sighed, leaning against his board and watching the crowds thin out as he waited to be ushered away by volunteers. “Hey,” he tapped Shiro in the side with his board, “ _peut-on aller watcher le patinage demain_?”

“Why the sudden interest?”

Keith scoffed. “What ‘sudden interest,’ my best friend’s on the team.”

“But she’s not competing tomorrow. Tomorrow’s—”

“Sorry,” a volunteer interrupted, smiling meekly at the both of them before looking to Keith, “come with me, please?”

Keith nodded, holding his board over to Shiro, who took it readily. Keith then held out his hand, giving him an expectant look, and Shiro sighed, handing the phone over. He smiled, slipping the phone back in his pocket before turning to the volunteer.

Shiro waggled the phone in front of his eyes. “You’ll get this back tonight.”

He made a show of rolling his eyes, then turned to the volunteer with his best attempt at a friendly smile. “Lead the way.”

* * *

 **[New Text:** Shiro **]**

 **[Shiro:** It’s about Lance, isn’t it??? **]**

 **[Shiro:** Also you were sooo close to having one good interview buddy **]**

 **[Shiro:** So close **]**

* * *

“Keith.” Shiro poked him in the side.

“Mm.”

“Put your phone down, you’re on the jumbo screen.”

He looked up from his Instagram feed and found, lo and behold, the both of them decked out from toque-to-toes in Team Canada gear projected up on the big screen of the rink. Shiro smiled and waved, and with another prod with his elbow prompted Keith to do much of the same. He dropped his feet from the railing he’d propped them up on and dropping his phone in his lap to wave both hands, giving the crowd two thumbs up when their cheers filled the stadium, and the emcee announced something about him in Korean.

“ _Ils t’ont tous vu hier_ ,” Shiro explained when the screen switched, now displaying a wide shot of the crowd as the loudspeakers bumped an upbeat song Keith had never heard before, “you’re the biggest story of The Games right now.”

Keith tried to hide his smile. Being Team Canada’s first gold of The Games came with a lot of celebrity—his barely-populated Instagram had earned thousands of new followers in the past twenty-four hours, and he was on the front page of every newspaper back home (or at least, that’s how their mom had made it seem with the amount of pictures she’d been sending them.)

“And the question on everyone’s mind,” Shiro continued, “is ‘what is Keith Kogane doing watching figure skating? We thought he was _too cool_ to care about other sports.’”

Keith slapped him in the side, cheeks burning as he slouched in his seat. “ _C’pas ça, c’est_ — _j’étais_ focused, _c’est pas c’que tu veux_?”

Shiro laughed, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Okay, but still you’ve got to admit it’s not like you: first you don’t know who Lance McClain is, now you’re going out of your way to watch him compete. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone has a _cru-ush_ ,” he taunted.

Keith pushed him away, to no avail. “Shut up, I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“Wait, you—” he barked out a laugh. “Google is free, Keith!”

“That’s what we’re here for.” He motioned towards the ice, where the skaters crisscrossed the rink, warming up. “I figure out who he is and I’m redeemed or whatever by watching him compete, then you guys can’t hold it over my head anymore.”

_Buzz buzz!_

He scooped his phone up from his lap, swiping open the new text from Pidge.

 **[Katie:** GJGJK YOU’RE HERE??? **]**

 **[Katie:** Ur thirst knows no bounds **]**

 **[Keith:** Why does everyone assume I’m thirsty???? **]**

 **[Keith:** I haven’t even seen the guy **]**

 **[Katie:** THEN GET OFF YOUR DAMN PHONE AND LOOK AT THE ICE **]**

He was halfway through typing a frustrated ‘you’re the one texting me’ before he abandoned it, looking up to Shiro and asking, “ _lequel est-il_ ?”

He held out his flesh hand to point. “ _C’est_ —” He frowned. “ _Oh, ils ont fini_.”

“ _Quoi_ ?” He looked out as the skaters all trickled off the ice and behind the boards.

“Yeah, he’s gone.” He smiled meekly, dropping the hand. “I guess you’ll have to wait ‘til he performs.”

Keith huffed. “When’s that?”

They looked up to the start list, now projected on the big-screen. “At the end?” He laughed, and Keith sighed as they both located the tiny red maple leaf next to McCLAIN LANCE at the bottom of the list.

He slouched. “Right.”

* * *

 

Figure skating looked really hard.

It’s not like Keith didn’t _know_ that already—he’d been to tons of Pidge’s competitions over the years and had seen his fair share of pairs skating competitions—but somehow it seemed like singles skating might even be more difficult. In pairs, Pidge always had Hunk, who she trusted with her life, and more often than not whenever Pidge had a bobble Hunk would be there, either to catch her or to pick her back up when she fell, much as she would with him.

With singles, you were all alone on the ice; it was only you against the judges and thousands of spectators. Of course, you could reason that it was much of the same in Keith’s sport—the same for any singles judged sport, really. But that felt different: Keith competed for execution, and these guys were competing for performance. Not only were they expected to compete their jumps flawlessly, they also had to engage the crowd.

Of course, the added complexity made it so Keith had no idea what was going on half the time. More often than not, he had to rely on Shiro—who had apparently become a figure skating _superfan_ while Keith wasn’t looking—for play-by-plays and explanations of the scores.

The whole crowd gasped as one when the American skater wiped out, applauding when he got back up, throwing himself right back into the performance as if he hadn’t just fallen ass-first on ice ( _without_ any padding, according to Shiro—who the fuck decided figure skaters shouldn’t be allowed padded uniforms? If it were Keith out there he’d be more decked out than a hockey player.)

“How the hell did he fall on a triple axel when he landed the quad toe no problem?” He demanded.

“It wasn’t a toe, it was a loop,” Shiro corrected.

Keith scrunched up his nose, feeling dizzy himself just watching the skater execute his spin. “You said it’s called a toe loop.”

“Yeah, there’s a loop and there’s a toe loop.”

“Ugh whatever—how’d he fall on a triple after sticking a quad?”

“Sticking’s for gymnastics—”

“ _Shiro_!”

The crowd erupted as he hit the final pose, the two of them respectfully applauding and waiting for it to quiet down before continuing their conversation. “Lots of skaters find triple axels harder than quads. It’s a harder take-off.”

Keith lifted his eyes to the slow-mo replay of the fall, hiding his grimace as best he could. “ _Alors ça vaut plus_ ?”

Shiro shrugged. “ _J’sais pas, franchement_. I don’t do a whole lot of score-watching, so I can’t really say which jumps score what.”

The score flashed up on the screen, also displaying Team USA’s box erupt into cheers as they read it, bumping him up to the top of the leaderboard. “Wait—he’s in first with a _fall_?!”

“Not for long.” Shiro pointed across towards the skater now stepping onto the ice. “Lance is on.”

Finally, Keith got his first actual look at the enigma that was Lance McClain. He had his back to their section in the crowd, conferring with a moustached and jubilant coach on the other side of the boards, who continuously slapped him over the shoulder as he spoke. Each time Lance’s coach jostled him, the sequins of his… get-up? Leotard?— _outfit_ glimmered under the spotlights. A bright-red, not-quite-but-almost dress shirt was strapped close over broad shoulders by equally-bedazzled suspenders, and Keith idly wondered how he could compete without being blinded by his own clothing.

He looked up to the jumbotron to get a better look at what was happening on ice-level. Unlike Keith’s vantage point, the camera managed to catch his face, fine features held in careful impassivity as he nodded along to whatever he was hearing. His coach released his shoulder, and Lance gave a confident smirk, spitting a quick reply before he turned away and skated out. He waved to the crowd and they erupted into applause, not waiting for his name to be announced—not needing to hear it to know who he was.

“Like what you see?” Shiro asked, sounding about as smug as ever. Keith tore his gaze off the ice to glare at Shiro. “You were mooning.”

“Was _not_ ,” he emphatically denied, turning back to watch Lance set up his starting pose.

The music burst out through the loudspeakers, silencing the audience as the routine began. It was fast-paced and bright, Lance’s movements matching the heavy accents right on tempo as his long legs pushed into the ice, quickly accelerating him backwards while his upper body carried on with the dance independently.

“Lance is famous for being a performer,” Shiro explained, “on _and_ off the ice. Says his philosophy is that big skills mean nothing when the routine around them is bland.”

After less than a moment’s set-up, Lance bowed into the ice and sprung himself into the air, landing his first jump in the perfect position to add on another, landing that one effortlessly too, restarting the choreography as though launching himself five feet in the air twice in a row and landing it on one razor-thin blade was _nothing_.

“Quad-toe, triple-toe, in case you were wondering.”

In the blink of an eye, Lance was back in the air, executing yet another flawless jump. “How does he _do_ that?”

“What part of it?”

“He just… jumps. Doesn’t even prep for it.” The other skaters took up half the surface working up to their jumps—sometimes not even finding the ice with their skates—whereas Lance didn’t seem to even need that, like he pulled his jumps right out of thin air, dancing right up until his blade left the ground.

“He’s famous for that too. Like I said, he’s all about the performance. I asked him once how he did it, and his answer was ‘leg day every day.’”

Keith furrowed his brow, not taking his eyes off Lance as he leapt into a spin. “You know him?”

“Met him a few times visiting Pidge—they train at the same rink, y’know?”

The music’s tempo changed, Lance’s choreography slowing to match it, getting smoother, gentler. “I can’t believe she never introduced us,” he wondered aloud. He’d met Hunk years ago, and sure that was because they were partners, but if Pidge and Lance were as close as they’d made it seem, why hadn’t Keith even _heard_ about him from her until yesterday?

“Well… I can kind of see why.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“You both… well let’s put it this way: the two of you would either love each other or really, _really_ hate each other.”

“What does _that_ mean?” The crowd erupted as Lance landed yet another flawless jump, and Keith waited patiently for Shiro to quit hollering along, sit back down, and answer.

“He’s a die-hard Toronto Maple Leafs fan.”

“Ew.” Keith grimaced.

“He’s a people-person, is really loud, and _loves_ telling corny jokes.”

“So basically, he’s the anti-me?”

“Not exactly. He’s also an intense competitor, driven, passionate, and loyal to a fault. Pidge probably couldn’t figure out which way the two of you meeting would go.”

Keith sat back, propping his feet up as Lance geared up for his last spin combination. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

Shiro gave an amused chuckle, going silent to watch Lance’s finale along with the rest of the crowd. He broke from the spin just as the music crested, freezing right on time with the end, arms outstretched towards them in the crowd, and the entire stadium erupted. Shiro pulled Keith to his feet, his shouts getting lost in a sea of cheers, and Keith laughed, opting to get swept away in the moment and join in. Others in the crowd tossed flowers and stuffed animals out onto the ice as he bowed to all four sides of the rink, scooping a teddy bear up as he glid over to the Team Canada box, waving up to the adoring crowd all the while.

“I forgot something,” Shiro said, “there’s one more thing you two have in common.”

“And that is?”

“He’s single.” Keith punched him in the arm (which, since it was his prosthetic arm, hurt him more than it did Shiro, but it’s the thought that counts.)

* * *

 

“ _… Now, I’m not sure if you were watching the slopestyle event last night, when Team Canada’s Keith Kogane won the gold medal_ —”

“ _Sorry, who_ ?” Lance answered, clearly mimicking Keith’s earlier interview blunder, with a laugh. “ _No yeah, we were all watching as soon as we finished at the practice rink_ — _we got back to the village just in time to catch his last run_.”

“ _It sounds to me like you caught his interview with the CBC after_ ?” Lance nodded. “ _Did you know he was in the crowd watching you compete tonight_?”

His winning smile weaned a tad as he was overcome with surprise, but then it returned, an eyebrow cocked. “ _Really now_?”

“ _What do you think about the question he was asked_ — _about what both your performances mean to the LGBTQ community_?”

Lance’s smile turned a bit more genuine. “ _I think… there really aren’t words to express how I feel. I know if twelve-year-old me were sitting at home watching not one but_ two _queer Olympians kill their performances in the span of one day, I would’ve felt a lot less alone. It’s a testament to how far we’ve come in sports in Canada, from the time of Mark Tewksbury to now. It’s crazy how much can change in so little time, and I hope LGBTQ athletes can continue to be game changers as time goes on_.”

“ _One last question: do you have anything you’d want to say to Keith, if he’s watching_?”

Lance laughed, hands going to his hips. “ _Oh, sure thing_ .” He turned to the camera. “ _I’m always excited to meet my fans: if you want me to sign that gold medal, don’t be afraid to come up and ask_.” He capped it off with a wink, before turning back to the interviewer, exchanging thanks and going their separate ways.

 _Psh, what a total asshole_ , Keith scoffed, switching from the CBC Olympics app to his chat with Pidge.

 **[Keith:** So when am I meeting this guy??? **]**

* * *

 

Keith busied himself with his phone, trying to conceal his apprehension as he sat alone at a cafeteria table. He scrolled idly through his Twitter mentions, favouriting post-after-post for posterity’s sake—some of his gold-medal winning performance, but many more of his surprise cameo appearance at last night’s Men’s Team SP skate. Apparently, unbeknownst to him, he and Shiro had gotten a lot more hyped by Lance’s performance than he remembered (watching his reactions on the broadcast had been far from his proudest moment.)

He stole a glance around, the floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the midday sun and leaving nothing to the imagination, illuminating the long, all-but-empty cafeteria tables that had just cleared from the lunchtime rush.

“Hey loser,” Pidge’s disembodied voice drifted over, and Keith whipped around to locate the source. He finally caught sight of her directly behind him, sauntering over with two of her teammates—Hunk and, of course, Lance—in tow. “Hand over the gold medal, or I’m taking your lunch money.”

He scoffed, standing up from the table and opening his arms up for a hug. “You brought your skater goons to come beat me up? I’m shaking in my boots.” She cackled, speeding up her last few steps to bridge the gap, looping her arms around his midsection as he squeezed her tight.

“Congrats on the gold, buddy,” Hunk said, wrapping his arms around the two.

Keith pulled an arm out of the embrace to set it on Hunk’s back. “Thanks. It’s good to see you again.”

“Well now I just feel left out,” contributed Lance from over Pidge’s shoulder. Keith spared him a look, and his stomach dropped.

If it were even possible, he was even _more_ attractive in person (granted, all times prior he’d seen Lance he was competing, so despite the makeup and glitter he was sweaty and exhausted,) his face accentuated by sharp features, clear skin and that winning smile, now worn as a boyish smirk directed at Keith. He cocked an eyebrow, drawing Keith’s gaze down towards bright blue eyes, and he folded his arms as he shifted his weight between his feet.

The cocky expression dropped as he dodged a haphazard kick from Pidge, prompting him to laugh. “You can wait five seconds to let Keith have his moment, Lance,” she admonished.

His hands went to his hips. “What five minutes? He’s been on every screen I’ve seen for the past _two days_ now, and you know I don’t do well with sharing the limelight.”

She scoffed, her and Hunk releasing Keith and stepping away, permitting Lance to step up. Hunk clapped Lance heartily on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’re already well aware of who this is, Keith.”

Lance flashed a grin, holding out a hand. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Keith took it, exchanging a firm handshake before they both let their hands drop. “I watched you compete last night.”

“I heard,” Lance replied, his tone leaving nothing regarding his arrogance to the imagination.

 _Jeez, this guy’s full of himself_ — _is it bad that it makes him totally my type_? “Yeah, you’re not actually that bad, surprisingly.”

“What do you mean, ‘surprisingly?’”

Keith shrugged, folding his arms. “I figure if you were any good, Pidge would’ve mentioned you at some point.”

Lance gave an exaggerated gasp of offence, a hand flying to his chest as he turned on Pidge. “You lied! You said you’d sing my praises to _everyone_ you met!”

Pidge snorted, shoving him with her shoulder. “Yeah right, like your ego needs any more inflation.”

“This is why Hunk’s my hype man. Hunk—” he slapped him on the shoulder “—sing my praises, if you would.”

Hunk laughed. “Right, let me just warm up my pipes.”

“Oh nope, never mind, we can’t have that.” Lance slapped a hand over Hunk’s mouth, leaning in to stage-whisper at Keith. “I’ve heard him sing in the shower—trust me, you do _not_ want to be subject to that.” Hunk swatted his hand away.

Keith laughed. “Alright, well if it’s praise you’re looking for, I wanted to say you did a damn good job, and I’m sorry if my interview broke your heart,” he joked.

Lance chewed on the apology for a moment, then gave an accepting shrug. “Alright, well you’re cute, so I think I can look past it.”

Keith’s mind stalled a moment, before he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “I’m cute?”

Lance hummed, giving him a very obvious once-over. “You’re easy on the eyes, even with that…” he motioned at Keith’s head, “wannabe hockey flow thing goin’ on.” He suddenly grimaced.

“What?” Keith demanded.

“I just imagined you with bleached hair.”

Keith snorted. “How ‘bout we don’t do that?”

Pidge stepped between the two of them. “Alright, well if you two are done flirting, we’ve got a packed schedule today. Hunk, what’s our first stop?” She grabbed both he and Lance by the wrist, tugging them into motion as Hunk led the way towards the door.

“First stop’s this amazing Korean barbecue joint just outside the village, famous for their…” Hunk set off on a long culinary ramble, half of which Keith swore wasn’t even in English. Pidge let their hands go and settled next to her partner, Lance sidling up next to Keith as they trailed behind a few paces.

“Hey.” Lance nudged him with an elbow, muttering just loud enough to be heard under Hunk’s voice. “Fair warning: do _not_ order anything raw on the menu, no matter how much Hunk pushes it. I learned that the hard way last year’s NHK Cup—no sushi is worth puking your guts out five minutes before the free skate.”

Keith grimaced, unable to imagine being expected to skate for seven minutes straight with food poisoning. “I’m sure all the jumping and spinning didn’t help much.”

Lance snorted. “I barely held on long enough to get off the ice—didn’t even make it to the Kiss and Cry. But hey, I still won.”

“Lance,” Hunk groaned, “how many times do I have to apologise for that before you let it go?”

“Never! I’m telling this story at your wedding—your kids’ll grow up with tales of bad sushi and even worse decisions.”

Pidge half-turned over her shoulder. “No one forced you to take down a whole table serving by yourself.”

“To be fair,” Keith contributed, “that means it’s on you.”

Lance gasped. “You don’t—you _can’t_ take sides, no one’s even told you the whole story!” He slung an arm over Keith’s shoulder, moving his other arm in a short arc in front of them both. “Alright, picture it: a crisp November evening in Osaka, Japan…”

* * *

 

“Okay, I think Hunk was right,” Lance exhaled, head lolling back to the hard plastic backrest of his seat as he sunk into it, as if exhausted, “this was the worst anniversary date idea _ever_.”

Keith laughed, folding his arms over the Habs crest on the front of his tried and true, red and blue #76 Montreal Canadiens jersey. “Well _I’m_ having a great time,” he taunted, looking up proudly to the scoreboard, heart swelling as he revelled in the score it read—the Habs were up three-to-nothing over the home crowd Leafs.

Lance sat up abruptly, pointing a stern finger just under Keith’s nose. “Yeah, well it ain’t over yet buddy. We’ve still got twenty more minutes to kick your butts.”

He cupped a hand to his ear. “Hm, sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your defence shitting the bed.”

Lance slapped his hands onto his armrests, his oversized bright blue jersey fluttering with the act (while he hid a smile despite acting so incensed.) “I said at least _my_ team’s going to make the playoffs this year! How many points out of the wild card are you guys again? Was it ten? Twenty?”

“It’s five!” Keith asserted. “At least our team’s got players who were born _before_ our last Stanley Cup.”

Lance scoffed. “Oh yeah, typical Habs fan, basking in the glory of your past.” He thrust out a hand to the vacated ice. “This team’s the _future_ , man. Matthews, Marner, Nylander—”

“Okay, you’re right!” Keith cut off, slapping a hand to his face. “Not about the hockey—that you’re still _so_ wrong about—but this was the worst idea we’ve ever had, period.”

“At least we can agree on that.” Lance stood, groaning as he rolled out his neck and shook his legs out. “I’m getting some popcorn, want any?” He offered a hand.

Keith smiled, genuinely for once, readily taking the hand and hoisting himself up with it. “Of course.”

“You’re paying,” he insisted, muttering quick apologies to the people they shuffled past on their way out of the cramped row.

Keith scoffed. “As if. You’re team’s losing, loser pays.”

“Keith I’m in _heartbreak_ right now.” He held Keith’s hand even once they’d cleared the seats, tugging him towards the steep steps that led down to the snack bar. “It’s your job to comfort me—it _is_ our anniversary, after all.”

Keith sighed, feigning being awfully put out as he caught up to Lance, leaning into his side and pressing a quick peck to his temple. “Okay, fine. But let me tell you, if you expect me to buy you ten dollar popcorn _every_ time the Leafs lose, I’ll be bankrupt by the end of the month.”

“A lot can happen in twenty minutes, don’t count them out just yet!” They argued that assertion all the way from their seats, through the enormous lineup for the snack stand, and all the way back to their seats, but never once disconnecting their hands.

And really, for all the talk Keith put up, having Lance’s hand in his could make any date—even a Leafs-Habs game played in Toronto—the perfect date.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways that was fun and dumb. I’m hoping to have my next fic out by the end of next month. Hope u enjoyed and thank u 4 letting me indulge lmao.
> 
> If you liked this story, please kudo, comment, rec, and/or [reblog on Tumblr!](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/173132622341/sorry-who-noussommeslessquelettes-voltron/)


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